


John's Fault, Another Reichenbach Fic

by orphan_account



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Grief, M/M, in which john blames himself for sherlock's death, kind of gory at the beginning, kind of like second chances, only not, selfhate, the whole denial thing, warning: long sentences
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-31
Updated: 2012-07-31
Packaged: 2017-11-11 03:36:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/474070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John tries to deny Sherlock's death at the foot of St. Barts, and fails.</p>
            </blockquote>





	John's Fault, Another Reichenbach Fic

John Watson stared at the body in front of him, and didn't believe what he saw.

He saw Sherlock Holmes, his body broken, his cheekbones hidden by blood from his head wound. He saw his limbs bent at unnatural angles, and decided that this wasn't real and he should probably wake up because this nightmare was a little too like his memories of the war -bloody, surreal, and filled with the shouts of frightened people- for him to be comfortable with.

He decided he would start to wake up by making Sherlock move again.

"Sherlock," He tried, but his voice wouldn't come out. There was a hissing in his ears, and a hollow feeling coiling in his stomach, a coldness that he couldn't identify. "Sherlock."

Something wet rolled down his face. Rain, he thought; just rain, warm and heavy on his cheek.

His hands moved and grasped his coat collar like he was about to start shaking him, but suddenly his arms wouldn't move and he didn't understand why. John's fists tightened on the material, still warm, but what a thought to have because of course it was warm, of course, because Sherlock was alive and he was going to get up.

Any second now.

John waited, his hands curling tighter, the pressure turning his knuckles white.

 

Really, any second now, he'd get to his feet and give John one of his indecipherable looks, brush the inexplicable brick dust off his scarf with a slightly irritated air and sweep away with John in his wake and everything would be back to normal, idiots and bitchy detectives and all.

Except there was a truth niggling at him, bumping insistently against the back of John's mind, trying to get his attention. He acknowledged it briefly, then pushed it away because it was such a ridiculous idea and any minute now Sherlock was going to get up.

Odd how quickly the seconds turned into minutes before he'd open his eyes. John hoped, in some desperate fit, that they didn't turn into hours. Days. He shuddered. _Weeks._ Maybe even months. Then he straightened his back and told himself sternly to **get back on form, soldier, you're not making sense.**

And suddenly he'd accepted that ridiculous idea and everything flooded over him in a rush of noise and people trying to pull him away and John just stared and stared at Sherlock because he wasn't going to get up and the rain was coming from his eyes in tears, flooding the landscape of his face and sending all facial expressions that might have been living there running for their lives and diving away into oblivion. 

And he wanted to smash something, shout at Mycroft; punch Moriarty in his smug, handsome face; grab Mrs Hudson by the collar and shake her until she got angry and told him in shocked, disappointed tones to let go of her right now, John Hamish Watson; upend a scalding hot cup of coffee over Lestrade's greying head, all for a hundred different reasons, mainly made up of variations on letting Sherlock out, not insisting he get some rest, maybe making him eat something and delay his leaving so that so many things might have turned out differently and

he didn't understand

_why he didn't see this coming_

Because Sherlock Holmes was dead now.

 

And it was John Watson's fault.

**Author's Note:**

> okay, hope you enjoyed! i seem to have a habit of writing depressing reichenbach fics, i am sorry >.> still. please comment and give me feedback so i can improve! i want to keep giving people the best i can write, so please give me ideas if you have any too <3 now i will stop writing this, and wish you a great rest of the morning/day/evening/night <3


End file.
